


atom by atom

by copperiisulfate



Category: K (Anime), Un-Go
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperiisulfate/pseuds/copperiisulfate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You do know," he says, in the dead of the night, "you’re not like them. No, if your sword falls, it won’t just obliterate Yokohama, it will wipe out a galaxy, at the very least."</p><p>"Maybe," you smile, all bright red lips and teeth. <i>At the very least.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	atom by atom

**Author's Note:**

> fill for crossover meme on tumblr where lhevette requested Inga + [K] and, to no one's surprise, it got out of hand fast.

The slate chooses you on the first day of fall. You shrug a shoulder and let Shinjuurou do the fretting for the both of you, because he will, because he always has, because there’s safety in tradition.

"Let’s celebrate with ice-cream," you say, laughing.

(There’s a leaf caught in his hair, blood-red, that your fingers are itching to pluck but you’re wearing the body of the child right now and it’s not quite tall enough. The slate has drained you such that you don’t quite have the energy to change. So you watch, instead, and wait for the wind to whip it away.)

Shinjuurou looks at you and his scowl is saying,  _There’s not much to celebrate,_  but he goes with your whims because there’s safety in tradition and it seems as if you’re not the only one who derives comfort from that today.

 

*

 

The first time the sword materializes above your head, you feel simultaneously heavier and also a little bit weightless.

It’s contradictory and makes no sense but the aura, deep violet, curls warm around you, nearly lifts you.

And then, you look up, and it’s there, all onyx and amethysts and something like your mortality above your head.

Later, you come to realize a pattern, and the pattern is that this body, the one that Shinjuurou bristles around but can’t keep his eyes off of, wears this power like a glove.

The sword only ever materializes when you’re her.

(Shinjuurou hates it when you’re her.)

 

*

 

"A king needs a clan," he says to you one day, casually, on his big red couch while he’s flipping through the news. "Isn’t that standard protocol or whatever? Do we go recruiting, or?"

It’s either your imagination or it sounds a little bitter.

"Shall we start with you then, Shin~juu~rou? Would you like to swear fealty to me?" And you’re kidding. Mostly. Like, ninety-five percent kidding. Okay, fifty. "If so, make it fancy!"

He says, deadpan, “Are you actually offering me a choice?”

And you laugh, because yes, you may be a monster, but you’re not a  _monster_. “Of course,” you sing-song. “It would be hardly fair, otherwise.”

"Not much is fair," he says, and you poke him in his side with your toe for that.

You laugh and say, “Cheer up!” and when he doesn’t, you shift and rearrange into long lines and long hair and crowd his space and delight as his breath catches because he’s right; you don’t play fair. There’s hardly any fun in fair.

You’ve got the pad of your thumb on his lips and you think about it again, an old mantra:  _There’s always a choice._  "You can say no and nothing will change.”

He curls his hand around your wrist, says, “ _Inga._ ”

And you close your eyes at the sound of your name in his mouth, like a spell.

"Inga," he says again, snapping you out of it but only just. "Everything’s already changed."

 

*

 

There’s no real ceremony when Kazamori comes along in the second week of winter.

It’s just that two become three and, besides, Kazamori has little concept or concern for things like king and clan.

"Convenience," Kazamori says when you ask.

 _Survival,_  Kazamori does not say, and does not say,  _I like him_ , and does not say,  _I think I like you too_  — does not really need to.

 

*

 

You think of asking Shinjuurou again, sometimes, when it’s obvious that he’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye but neither of you will own up to it.

You never do.

Ask him.

Or.

Own up to it.

 

*

 

It’s nearing the middle of spring and he’s sprawled on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes to block the afternoon light. He hasn’t shaved today and he didn’t sleep for most of the night.

It’s not often that you clash with other clans but last night you had and you, alone, had been enough. _Of course_ , you had been enough.

Men who obtained their powers from some rock, thinking they had a chance against a deity who could wipe out a planet? You’d laughed about it later while Shinjuurou lay awake in his bed and Kazamori, in the RAI’s body, had sat between the two of you with their back to you, chin on their hands, elbows on Shinjuurou's chest, rising and falling with his every breath.

Kazamori doesn’t sleep but knows that humans do, expects them to and knows that there is significance when they don’t, when they can’t.

It’s mid-day now, and both the RAI and the panda toy sit there, vacant.  You suppose that they've fled, gone off to the web, or wherever they went when they weren’t around, and would be back at their leisure.

You reach out to touch Shinjuurou’s hair but pull away at the last second.

 

*

 

First day of summer and you’re chasing butterflies while Kazamori takes small measured strides alongside Shinjuurou.

You get ahead of them enough that when you turn, there’s the curve of a hill you’ve just passed. You take your time, standing on one side of it, and wait and watch them appear, as if from the ground up, watch them approach, sun behind their backs. 

This is your kingdom then.

 

*

 

(“You do know,” he says, in the dead of the night, “you’re not like them. No, if your sword falls, it won’t just obliterate Yokohama, it will wipe out a galaxy, at the very least.”

"Maybe," you smile, all bright red lips and teeth. _At the very least._

You want to tell him that he’s forgetting that you don’t die, but then, this is new and all the variables have shifted. You don’t know anything for certain anymore.

He looks at you. "We have no idea what could happen." 

You look away. “Then let’s wait and see.”

“ _Inga,_ " he says, like you’re being careless, and maybe you are, because all you’re thinking is: _Say it again;_ _say it again._

You find that you’ve never thought about death before and wonder if you should feel fear.

Instead, there’s something else, vaguely like relief.

You’ve known for a long time now that he won’t live forever.)

 

 


End file.
